


Life in color

by Two_Divided_by_Zero



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Yusuke has chromesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Divided_by_Zero/pseuds/Two_Divided_by_Zero
Summary: Being able to hear colors in color had always been a blessing and a curse for Yusuke. It was like living in his own little world - a world that gets shaken by the arrival of a quiet boy with an unusual voice.





	Life in color

**Author's Note:**

> Chromesthesia is a neurological condition and a type of synesthesia in which an individual automatically and involuntarily associates heard sounds with a certain color. All over the world, just about 1% of the people have this condition which is idiosyncratic.
> 
> This is a self-indulgent drabble for my recent headcanon that Yusuke has at least a mild case of chromesthesia.

At three years of age, Yusuke created his first work of art. While Madarame peered critically over his shoulder, he slathered blues and greens with a shimmery copper on canvas. Swirls and swathes of pearlescent white finished the piece and he could barely restrain his excitement when he turned to his teacher.

To be honest, there was probably more paint crusted between his tiny fingers and on his clothing than the canvas.

Madarame hemmed and hawed appropriately, earning a giggle from his adopted son. “The style is a little rudimentary and I would've chosen a deeper blue, like cerulean, but overall sufficient.”

His façade crumbled at Yusuke's joyous yelp and the older artist could not help but reach down to ruffle his protegé’s hair. “What are you going to call it?”

“Monday!”

Madarame cocked his head in genuine contemplation. “An interesting title. Abstract, much like the work itself…”

Young Yusuke had simply stared at him in response. “This is what Monday looks like.”

“Yusuke,” Madarame had chided lightly, “Monday is a day of the week. It doesn't have a physical form you can capture with oil and canvas.”

Rather than tearing up like most younger children would have, Yusuke just scrunched his nose and pouted. “But that's what Monday looks like! It's blue!”

Madarame sighed rust and managed his temple _why are children like this_ and hoisted Yusuke up by his armpits. “Enough of your whining now. How about we go downstairs and see how everyone else is doing?”

And that had been the end of that.

(He later learned that Madarame had renamed his work “For Me, It Was a Monday” and sold it soon after. It shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did.)

From that point on, Yusuke no longer talked about how the way the floorboards creeked beneath his feet was purple, or how the neighbors dog whined green. He stopped explaining to his teachers that he hated the school bell because it was so red it hurt.

“It isn't that it looks red, ma’am,” he'd explained politely, “but it _feels_ red.”

She'd shaken her head in dismay before calling Madarame about his “attention seeking tendencies”. His father figure had shown up looking so wizened and tired, Yusuke vowed then and there to keep his observations yo himself.

Years passed and he discovered his own niche in art. When asked in an interview during a middle school art show what his inspiration was, he delivered a practiced, “from my teacher, Madarame.”

(Brackish and black, that lie was one of the ugliest things he'd ever heard.)

Just because he stopped talking about it did not mean the colors went away. He woke up every morning to notes of silver and grey sung by birds followed by the brown of passing cars. He ate lunch - when Madarame saw fit to feed him - mired in orange chatter. And at night, when he finally put his brush down, he let seafoam green chirps of the cicadas lull him to sleep.

His world, while beautiful, became predictable over time. Like an overdeveloped photograph, everything began to sound muddled and too bright.

That's when fortune chose to smile upon him.

The first time he heard Ann Takamaki chatting with Akira and Ryuji, he heard rose twined with gold and just the _slightest_ bit of back speckled in. It shifted and swirled and evoked thoughts of classic elegance and royalty.

It was beautiful - _she_ was beautiful - and he couldn't resist giving chase.

(Much later down the road when they became better acquainted, he realized the mistake he had made; her voice wasn't rose, but a vibrant magenta that flickered like flame and seared his eyes if he stared for too long. It was even more lovely than initially thought.)

He'd ran then, thoughtless of his own rather lacking physique. He'd ran and stumbled and jogged only to be met with a hostile greeting.

Ryuji - normally creamy orange like pumpkin pie - had shouted at him then. It was so _vibrant_ it made his headache, but Yusuke was proud to note he hardly flinched.

The other boy though…

_Akira Kurusu_.

When Yusuke looked at him then - when Yusuke looks at him _now_ \- he imagines candy apple red with the slightest tinge of caramel. He imagines a hue so bright, it makes everything else sound dull.

What he gets is a dusty mauve, bordering on beige. Boring. Lifeless.

Even Akira's cat meowed a violent lemon-lime. How was it possible for someone surrounded by such vibrancy to be so dull?

How was it possible for _the leader of the Phantom Thieves_ to sound so...unremarkable?

Madarame’s, with his gilt tongue spewing browned words, looked on with disgust at Yusuke's metamorphosis into a new person. It was the most peculiar sensation; for the first time in his life, Yusuke could hear the hue of his own words. Every word, _every letter_ , was bathed in crimson.

He hoped that monstrosity of a man drowned in it.

His days became much more colorful after that fateful day. Where the walk to his shack (he could finally admit to himself it was a dump) was normally a fog of greys and blacks and gangrene, the walk to the dorms was filled with canary laughter and pops of cerise gossip. His neighbor across the hall occasionally played classical music in pastels and the gurgle of pipes brought a rush of navy.

Days spent at their hideout were a veritable explosion of color that sometimes left Yusuke reeling. How such _radiant_ people could hide in plain sight and not be recognized immediately was beyond comprehension.

Ann, with her kind smile and rosey words, would sometimes bring him little snacks to munch on while they'd plan trips to Mementos. Even Ryuji would abandon his rough exterior to toss him a ginger ale before the first escalator down. “Dude, I can hear your stomach churning from the front seat, “ he'd gripe every time before tossing a cold can at the artist.

Even then, one thing remained constant; Akira's words remained muted. Every word of encouragement in Mementos, in palaces, reminded Yusuke of his digital art class and the desaturation filter. Was that it? Could Photoshop filters be applied to words?

“Are you getting tired, Fox? Do you need Queen to swap spots?” _So dull. So dingy. So drab._

The idea for Desire was born from his frustration over the very matter. Ever since...the museum… Yusuke had lost his inspiration. Sure, his life was more fulfilling than ever thanks to his new friends, but a part of him mourned the loss of his fa-Madarame. The first night after his confession, Yusuke had stood in front of an easel until the wee hours of the morning. The normally pleasant sepia of his memories was profaned by the knowledge that _he was nothing more than a cash cow meant to crank out art and little more._

Everything his brush touched turned a nightmarish swirl that left him feeling empty.

So, with a heavy heart, Yusuke sought out Akira to go to Mementos. “Are you certain,” Akira queried, “that you want to go just the two of us?”

How could Akira have known he was just as integral to the piece as Mementos itself? Yusuke merely nodded and assured that yes, just the two of them was fine.

Desire was an amalgamation of all the sounds of Mementos. If one looked closely, they could see the white of the shadows shuffling about and the black of the echoing screams. There was red for all the angry echoes of Shibuya's inhabitants and shades in between. However, if one looked with a critical eye, they might notice the faint streaks of a red so light, it could be mistaken for white. It was Akira's voice asking him how life at the dorm was, how his art was, if he was actually “doing alright”. 

There was so much of his heart in that painting that having some faceless man criticize it left Yusuke feeling gutted. Akira had patted him on the back, promised he'd help rediscover the inspiration that seemed locked away with his former teacher.

Posing at the church, gawking at quarreling siblings at the park…

Fate truly was a fickle mistress; Yusuke _did_ discover something, but it was not necessarily the inspiration he sought. Rather, it was the gradual realization that oh, he was attracted to Akira, wasn't he?

Maybe it truly did begin as a curiosity about his voice, but now Yusuke realized he could spend all day drinking coffee with Akira and barely register the colors at all. Red, purple, rainbow even… he doubted anything registered beyond ‘Akira has a beautiful smile,’ or ‘is it possible to drink enough coffee to never sleep so we could just talk forever’.

In a particularly regrettable move, he'd even turned to Futaba for help. After a particularly puce burst of laughter, she managed to reign herself in to only the occasional chuckle.

“It's called a crush for a reason, Inari,” Futaba snarked while crosshairs targeted someone on screen. “You rarely ever escape unsca- **ha**! Take that, you aimbot-using excuse of a sniper!”

(Somehow, this was the best advice he'd gotten: Ryuji had looked uncomfortable before handing him some odd packets, Ann had cooed in delight and Morgana had muttered something about “less competition”.)

After their school trip, Yusuke began to experiment in earnest with Desire again. 

It was a perfect representation of Shibuya's desire in his eyes, ugly and raw and bleeding. It was an expression of a city, flayed and laid open for all to see. Lost hopes and dreams…

And like that, inspiration struck at last; what accuracy was their in a piece named Desire if it didn't include his very own wishes? It was so simple all along!

Hardly a week passed before Yusuke was whipping the sweat from his brow and admiring the new whites and golds now swirled in. Every stroke held a dream of how Akira _could_ sound, unfettered and free. He genuinely hoped to hear that one day and thus, Hope and Desire was born.

That night, with his painting proudly displayed for all to see and heart in hand, Yusuke turned to his leader and friend.

“When I'm with you, I can _feel_ every color! After everything, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to ever let that feeling go!”

Akira had leaned in then and stolen his breath with a kiss and for an instant, the world had gone blissfully blank.

(He also very eloquently declared he would blaze his own artistic path, but that didn't feel nearly as important as the hand now curled shyly within his own.)

When all was said and done and the Phantom Thieves were a (recent) thing of the past, Yusuke made an important realization about his newly exonerated boyfriend. His voice wasn't red at all; Akira was a buttery yellow that made Yusuke think of movie nights and cuddling by a fireplace (not that he'd ever had anyone to cuddle with, or a fireplace for that matter). There were also undercurrents of a lightness Yusuke couldn't actually put a name to. Both were wholly unexpected yet completely radiant. 

It wasn't until later when they were cuddled up in the backseat of a potentially (?) stolen van enroute to nowhere that Yusuke remembered how wrong his initial impression of his _boyfriend_. He couldn't resist nuzzling Akira's neck at that revelation, earning a purr as yellow as a newborn chick; he was looking forward to all the colors a life together with this wonderful boy would entail.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking it out with this fic and I hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
